I am so so so SO very sorry I haven't uploaded lately at all :( It's just that adjusting to America has become somewhat of a challenge for me, and the depression spells make me unable to write, but it's a new year now which calls for new goals! [btw happy new year and hope you guys had great holidays (if you do celebrate them)] Anyways, they're in Texas now, and I got the idea from a certain reviewer [you know who you are] that made a rather interesting point of the geographical position of Texas and how it is relevant and hilarious in comparison to America's physical being [no not his glasses try thinking more creatively]. Also, I'm sorry if my portrayal of Texas isn't entirely accurate, most of my research was second-hand information from Americans that I know.

Anyways, I hope you enjoy the read and pardon my lateness :D

A digital ring tone awoke Romano from his short nap. Granted, it had only been three and a half hours since he and his Spanish companion had driven from Alexandria, but the Italian had grown tired quickly and unintentionally dozed off. Spain, finding the presentation of a sleeping Romano far too indescribably precious, permitted the break and continued to drive. Rubbing his eyes with a clenched fist, the olive skinned nation reached for his disposable cell phone—while resisting the urge to chuck it out their Jeep—and pressed the 'call' button.

"Pronto," he grumbled in the receiver. A falsetto voice giggled at the other end of the line, and it was then that Romano knew exactly who had called him. Groaning a little, he leant on the glass of the window and mentally prepared for a headache that was sure to come. Spain had heard it as well and pitied Romano a little, so he used his free hand to clasp his love's palm as a sign of comfort. Throwing him a semi-thankful glance—for the younger personification felt exasperated even before his conversation took place—Romano coyly squeezed the grip.

"Fratellone~! Mi manchi! You never told me the number of your cell phone, so I had to ask big brother Francis, and when he said that he didn't know, I had to ask Kiku. B-But he didn't know either, so the only person left to ask was America, and luckily he knew it so he gave it to me and that's how I found you~! È un miracolo!" After Italy had finished his rambling, Romano could hear the younger Italian execute a heavy intake of breath and rolled his eyes at the sound. Feliciano never learnt to take a break from talking his jaw off. Idiot.

"Whatever. Anyways, what do you want? We're on the road here, stupido, so make it quick, or so help your sorry ass," the feisty nation threatened, feeling his patience wear thin by the minute. After all, Romano wasn't exactly the most tolerant of people, and even though Italy was his younger brother, he could only handle so much.

"Veh, alrighty then. Where are you and big brother Spain right now? I know we aren't supposed to say these things, but Luddy and I won't cheat. Will we, caro mio~?" Romano winced when he heard such a loving nickname being used for the masculine German, and even more so as a muffled grunt from the other end of the line responded to Italy's inquiry. He had witnessed Germany's reactions to the Northern Italians cute pet names, and wagered that the "kraut" would be blushing madly by then.

"I don't know, I think we're somewhere in Eastern Texas or something. So I guess we'll be in Dallas pretty soon."

"Texas? Luddyyyy, where are we right now? … Hmm? Um, he says he's near Da… Da… Dallas! Yep, that's the place! OH?" The irritated Southern Italian was growing tired of his brother's antics and knew that his impatience would get the better of him. Spain acknowledged his lover's annoyance and gently stroked Romano's hand, attempting to sooth the other's irritation.

"Get on with it! I'm giving you exactly three minutes to make your point, and then I'm hanging up!" the frustrated personification forewarned, although he was slightly eased by Spain's caressing movements. Italy smiled, pleased to hear the commonplace ferocity of his brother's familiar voice [no matter how grouchy it was].

"Well, Luddy just told me that we'll also be passing through Da… Da… THAT place to get to where we're going, so why don't all of us just meet there in, say, an hour?" the cheery nation suggested. Hearing this proposition from his seat, Spain locked gazes with Romano, and both stayed silent for awhile. The Spaniard knew that he was contemplating his answer, and decided that regardless of whatever decision Romano chose, he would be adequate with it.

"Fine, we'll see you and your stupid potato eater. Just call me when you get there, and we'll meet up in some restaurant or something," Romano grumbled compliantly. After attempting to force Italy's cheers of joy to cease, the Italian simply hung up and set his cell phone down. Luckily, the weather was neither rainy nor chilly like their previous destinations, so the two removed the Jeep's overhead covering. Refreshing winds continuously blew in their faces, and they couldn't help but smile at one another—the euphoric feeling of companionship made them feel as if they were the only two people in the world. Well, this was true in their case; they were the only two people in each other's world. And that was pure elation, if such joy could be defined.

Nearly an hour later, the men had arrived in Dallas. Romano's first impression of the Texan city was that it was very pretty in certain suburban areas, save for some of the monstrous trucks parked in front of a few houses. Mothers and their children strolled hand-in-hand on the sidewalks, a postmen greeted them in a friendly manner, and the sun itself seemed to smile down on the two. All in all, both nations grew fond of the setting quickly.

Eventually, they neared the downtown part of Dallas and noticed that plenty of people were staring at them as they exited their Jeep. Although humans did this often— due to a sort of "sixth sense" that enabled them to identify what differentiates mortal from immortal [most, however, could only identify the sensation as a strange nagging feeling]— the looks Romano and Spain received were ones they hadn't seen in a while; that of discernment.

Of course, the majority of people around them kept to themselves and didn't bother throwing the two a glance. Spain jumped at the sound of his partner's ringtone and watched the younger man pull his device out.

"Feliciano? Which restaurant are you in?" the Italian questioned, narrowing his eyes as he tried to get a better view of the Stone Street Gardens, a landscaped oasis lined with bistros, pubs, and eateries. Although Downtown Dallas possessed mostly concrete structures, crowded streets, and multi-story buildings, the opening connecting the Main and Elm streets was one of the few exceptions that impressed Romano.

With its outdoor seating and charming setting, the critical personification took a liking to the Stone Street Gardens and inwardly praised his younger brother's choice of location. He turned to look at Spain, of whom was staring at an eating place with finely detailed, Italiante-styled architecture. Named "Sol Irandés", the establishment was a Mexican chophouse, and seated on the outside patio were Italy and Germany.

"Look, Lovi! They're over there," his Spanish companion stated obviously while pointing [much to Romano's embarrassment], and then he jogged in their direction, being as unintentionally loud as possible. The Italian flipped his phone shut and followed Spain, stopping himself from yelling at the overly excited nation.

Once kisses and hugs were exchanged from both parties [although Romano barely contributed], everyone sat down and ordered their meals. Germany and Italy weren't anticipating the get-together, and had eaten beforehand, so they ordered drinks instead. After several minutes of small talk and chit chat, Romano suddenly stood from his stool and made eye contact with his brother's significant other.

"Let's talk for a minute, potato bastard," the Southern Italian beckoned, quickly casting a miserable look Spain's way. Thinking for a brief moment, it then dawned on the Spaniard that Romano was going to talk about the proposal with Germany. He nodded his head in affirmation and subtly patted his partner in a feeble attempt to sooth the man. Although the German nation didn't quite understand the summons, he followed despite his slight bewilderment, leaving Italy and Spain to converse.

"What are they talking about? Fratello wouldn't be around Süßer if it wasn't important." Smiling secretively, the Spaniard took a sip of his carbonated water and rested his palms on the table.

"Lovi is just being the same loving, considerate, and mature person that he always is. Don't think too much about it," Spain reassured. The Northern Italian's eyes narrowed and his sitting position went from the usual slouch, to a straightened one that spoke of hidden malice.

"So then, big brother Spain, how close have fratello and you gotten this past week or so? I can't imagine you keeping it in your pants for so long, supposing that he did accept your feelings," Italy commented, a dark and acidic tone added to his supposedly cheerful voice. It nearly gave the older nation shivers [not the good kind though]. But Spain had decided long ago that he would not be daunted by the amber-eyed personification, no matter what familial ties he shared with Romano.

"Well, Italy, I don't think that's any of your business, is it? If you want to know how we're doing, why don't you just ask when sweet Lovi is around as well? Why hide these questions of yours?" Although his lips were fixed into a friendly smile, the Spaniard's eyes glinted with an indication of displeasure. Had Italy been his typical self, the personification would have shrunk at the former-conquistador's look of animosity, but he was far too enveloped in his other "mode" or "personage" [as Spain had put it] to shy away.

"You and I both know that 'sweet Lovi' would never give me a straight answer. My dear brother can be such an embarrassed guy when it comes to certain… topics. But whatever, I suppose he can take care of himself," the Italian mused aloud, his face brightening immediately once he noticed Germany and Romano re-entering the scene. He scooted his chair over to make room for the palest nation of the group, sending said personification a dazzling smile. As much as he hated to admit it, Italy's ability to switch character so easily frightened Spain a bit, and he often wondered how his 'darling Lovi' could ever be related to the chestnut-haired Italian.

"Sooo. Gummibärchen and I should probably be leaving now, since we're kind of running behind plans… or something," Italy interjected, pulling Germany from his chair by the elbow. Walking over to his older brother, he gave Romano a kiss on each cheek, evading the friendly hug Spain attempted to execute. The Southern Italian, watching both nations with judging eyes, couldn't help but crack a smile when his lover pouted and shot Italy a half-hearted glare. After a rather awkward handshake with Germany, Romano and Spain journeyed back to their parking spot, using all the restraint they possessed to keep themselves from holding hands.

Once both men had reviewed the directions and argued over who would drive for eleven hours straight throughout the poorly lit night, the older of the two reluctantly agreed to let his companion drive. Just on that occasion, though. Romano strapped himself firmly in the driver's seat, grinning smugly over his triumph while Spain fidgeted nervously. It wasn't that the Spaniard didn't have any faith in his Italian lover; no, that certainly was not the case. If anything, the green-eyed personification was just worried that Romano would be plagued with immense exhaustion by the end of the trip. But Spain knew that if the Italian truly wanted to drive, he'd have to give in and deal with it.

"So, what were you and Germany talking about?" Spain inquired conversationally, putting on a pair of rad shades as the afternoon sunlight beamed in his eyes. Shrugging his shoulders in response, Romano's facial expression quickly turned sour as he thought of the awkward and stiff conversation he had privately carried with his brother's significant other.

"It was… horrible, really. You know, I had to tell that fucker that it was okay to ask my brother to marry him and shit. Hell, he should probably be called—and this is a god awful term, I know—my brother in-law now. I'm getting the worst sort of shivers just thinking about their wedding and how stupid it's going to be. Oh lord, what will Feli make me wear?!" Spain smiled as he listened to his love's complaints, and he knew very well that behind Romano's rough attitude was an older brother that felt genuinely happy for his own sibling. Even though it disturbs you so much, you're still letting them get married. Oh, my Lovi is so kind and sweet and lovable! Oh, how I love him.

"Ah, but you're talking like the proposal has already happened. What if Italy says no?" the Spaniard wondered aloud, but even he noticed the stupidity in his thoughts. Romano confirmed Spain's low level of intellect with a snort, momentarily looking away from the road to glance at his partner.

"I know my brother better than nearly anyone on this planet [besides the dipshit kraut], and I can bet so much fucking money on him saying yes. That moron will flip his shit in a happy-crazy kind of way and announce to the whole damn world that he's marrying the German shithead. I mean, I would probably keep a cringe-worthy fact like to myself, but then again I'm not the loser that's going to get married to an overgrown potato with arms and legs." The Italian maneuvered their jeep around a rather slow pickup truck that was wide enough to take up both lanes, ignoring the dirty look he got from its driver [had his positioning been more convenient, Romano would have promptly flipped him off].

"Hmm, you're probably right," Spain concluded while stretching his stiff arms, and then he adjusted his seat so that it leant back a few centimeters. But even though the Spaniard thought their conversation was over, Romano wasn't quite done talking yet.

"And what did my brother and you talk about while I was gone?" the Italian questioned knowingly. His Iberian partner sent him of look of feigned innocence, as if he had no idea what the other was insinuating, and was given a smirk in return.

"Oh, I know how cagey Feli is being about our new relationship status… or whatever. The point is that he obviously said something again, and I want to know what it was this time." Romano slowed at the stoplight and met his lover's gaze, the Italian's eyes widening when he realized that he had admitted something not meant to be said; Spain was unaware of him eavesdropping that one night. The memorable one when he admitted his longtime feelings for Romano to Italy.

"Again? What do you mean by that?" Spain asked, and his eyebrows knit together as he tried to recall a time when Romano was around to witness his younger brother's verbal "tyranny" [the Spanish nation was a melodramatic one when it came to these sort of things]. Slowly reaching internal panic, the Southern Italian gripped the steering wheel with sweating palms and regretfully decided to lie.

"Oh, well, you know, Italy can get a little protective when occurrences revolve around me. I guess he feels that it's his responsibility as a brother? I don't know, although I can relate." It wasn't a complete lie, for such a thing had happened more than once. Romano tried to sound additionally confident as he picked a random example from the top of his head, not thinking too much about it. "Like that one time when he nearly shot Turkey for getting too close to me. Greece and I had a good laugh from that, but eventually, we had to stop Feliciano before he skewered the pathetic belly dancing bastard over a bonfire." Defining the silence as a sense of understanding, it took the Italian nation more than a minute to look at Spain's face and realize something was wrong.

"H-Hey, are you okay?"

"What was Turkey doing to you this time? Whatever it was, I might have to thank you brother for scaring him off." Behind the Spaniard's neutral tone of voice was resentfulness more apparent to Romano than nearly any other emotion his lover had displayed [besides devotion]. If it weren't for the fact that this envy was somewhat the Italian's fault because he brought the topic up, Romano might have laughed. But he held such urges back and playfully punched Spain's tense arm.

"Yeah, you might. The Turkish asshat just tried to get me to 'shimmy' or 'wiggle' or whatever the fuck kind of bodily coordination he was doing at that moment, though, so it's no big deal."

"Turkey tried to make you dance?" the Iberian nation asked incredulously, thinking back on the times when he had tried to teach his former henchman about traditional Spanish dances. Not only did the Southern Italian scream in protest, but he then violently attacked his retainer and ran away, shrieking like a wild animal. All the servants within Spain's mansion spent hours trying to catch the little devil as he continuously caused damage during his childish temper tantrum.

It was madness.

The possibility that Turkey could have witnessed Romano's terrifying resistance to dancing made Spain want to break into hysterical laughter; it must have been a riot!

"A-And how did that go, hmm? I take it you didn't react well, since you've never liked dancing anyways," the Spaniard assumed, his mouth twitching at the corners as he tried to prevent a smile from forming. Romano heaved a heavy sigh, tucking a few strands of bang hair away from his eyes.

"Nooo, I didn't 'react well', that's for sure, but it was nothing compared to how I used to be as a brat. Now I'm more… tolerant when it comes to dancing, especially after you 'cured' my supposed 'chorea'. Hell, I even enjoy it myself," he admitted, smirking when he noticed his companion's widened eyes. The idea of his lover enjoying dancing was completely new to Spain, and his mind excitedly ran through all the scenarios that could come from engaging in such an activity with Romano. Perverted and otherwise.

"That's great! Then maybe you can show me some time, and we'll be able have our first dance together," the Spanish nation offered. His lover turned crimson and frowned due to embarrassment, although he too fancied the idea of their first dance as more than friends.

"Maybe I will, but not at the moment."

"That's alright, we can save it for Italy and Germany's wedding! Oh, I can't wait, though! Can you imagine how many of our fellow countries will show up? Who will organize their seats? Maybe we should help them out, Lovi, you know? Since Italy is your brother and all, not to mention Germany is a really helpful guy." While Spain carried on his rambling relative to the upcoming and rather predictable wedding, the Southern Italian next to him begrudgingly thought about the occasion which much disgruntlement; social gatherings were not his forte, so to speak. Romano practiced avoiding hoards of people altogether with a considerate amount of skill, especially if they were personifications like himself.

Yes, a lot of nations will probably be there, he concluded with great indignation, ignoring the needy whines from his Spanish partner. Which means that there's bound to be some kind of batshit drama amongst the guests. After all, what more is a wedding [and a gay as fuck one, at that] without a few inconveniences here and there? That's entertainment AND a headache hand-in-hand, if I've ever heard of one. I guess Feli might need someone to help out… Fuck, I don't wanna do it but what-the-fuck-ever

"Hey, Loviii? Loviii. Loviii. Loooviiiinooooo, are you even listening to me?" Spain's voice interjected Romano's train of thought, forcing him to stare down his green eyed inamorato with an annoyed expression.

"No, I wasn't listening to your irrelevant rambling, you chatterbox tomato bastard. Now, do me a favour and shut the hell up because—as you can clearly tell—I'm fucking driving and need to concentrate, okay?" The Italian said the last part of his inquiry slowly and deliberately, giving Spain's overwrought mind time to catch up with the words.

"But what will I do for the rest of the drive if I'm not talking to you?"

"I don't know. Entertain yourself? Oh, here's an idea: sleep! Get some rest or something," Romano suggested. He hadn't forgotten those moments when he had slept while Spain drove, and such sleeping spells were so recurring that they bothered him. The younger nation wanted to make up for his mistakes [which were, in Spain's mind, nothing bad at all] by offering rest to his lover, so that the score would somehow be settled [it should once again be noted that Spain truly thought nothing of Romano's naps, which basically means that the guy is making a big deal out of nothing].

The Spaniard pouted, his lower lip curling downwards a bit, and he then decided that perhaps some amount of teasing was the perfect conversation starter that Romano needed. "Maybe I should just give you road-head, then you'd pay attention to me and we'd have something to do together, too."

Romano nearly drove off the highway.

"WHAT?!"

"Oh, you didn't understand me? Um, what I meant is that… I guess in more complicated terms, it means that I perform fellatio on you while you drive? I mean, it seems dangerous… but I trust your vehicle manipulation abilities~!" Spain admitted nonchalantly, although Romano's mortified face worried him.

"I know what that means you sick fuck, but why on earth would you want to do something like that?" From his cheeks, ears, and even neck, Romano felt his skin heat tenfold. "I-I mean, I'm not fucking… I can't really… Errm…" What I meant is that I'm not emotionally ready for that, but I'm not against the very activity itself. It wasn't as if the Italian could actually say what he was thinking, though. My lord, Lovino, how much more incommunicative can you get?

The older personification took note of his companion's aghast disposition and took it upon himself to laugh nervously. "Hahah, b-but of course I was joking because you would never agree to something like that. N-not that that's bad or anything; it's okay, is what I mean." Spain mentally face-palmed himself as he felt the shame of making his love extremely uncomfortable.

"N-No! I mean, it's not like I'm not open to the idea or anything, alright? I just… err, you get it, right?" No, he did not get it. However, that didn't mean that the Spaniard wouldn't lie for the sake of Romano's emotional state.

"Um, yes? Let's just drop the subject."

"Fine by me."

And so, there was an incredibly awkward silence that commenced. Which eventually led to Spain drifting off into a deep sleep, just as Romano had planned [but not entirely how he'd have liked it to sort out]. Around one in the morning or so it became profoundly chilly, so the olive skinned personification adjusted their Jeep's overhead cover and—out of the love and concern that he attempted to mask with vexation—wrapped his partner in a warm blanket.

And he gave him a sweet night kiss for good measure, because he knew that that was the sort of Spain would have done for him.

"Sleep well, Antonio. Sogni d'oro, amore mio."

"... but he then violently attacked his retainer and ran away, shrieking like a wild animal... It was madness." Those are my favourite lines of this chapter okay [with the fellatio one coming in third I think]. Yeah, this was more of an informative filler sort-of chapter, but it's necessary for the plot. And Germany and Italy are getting married! Yay! Trust me, I'll cover a bit of that event later on.

Thanks for reviews/favourites/continuous patience and whatnot :DDD And Happy 2013, let's hope it's a good year~!